War Torn

Hill of stones behind the house
slanted ceiling closing in
confined to the edge and wide awake
he hears a voice inside the wall
signal him, it wants to explain

while the TV keeps snowing
turning winter inside out.
It tells of unending circles
descending from the sky, a lake
to stir up sleep; dark flopping birds,
amidst the empty bowls.

Swimming with nightmare
he follows a boat until it disappears
a sweep of sudden freeze.
His mouth drops open; he holds out his tongue
to catch the taste of white then blind.

Beyond the doorway jumping fish
as the day fast thins
adrift in other waters.

This weekend Fiset reads from Bandaged Moments, poems about war and its aftermath. Afterwards, Seattle writers and performers share a favorite piece of writing about New York. Richard Hugo House, 1634 11th, 322-7030. 7:30 p.m. Sat., Oct. 13.